


Comfortable

by MadameRed



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Rimming, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 13:05:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1267558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameRed/pseuds/MadameRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean is a shy kind of guy whose dancing is enough to reduce Marco to a drooling pile of Spanish nonsense. Jean doesn't really get it, but Marco shows him that yes, incoherent bilingual babbling is a <i>very</i> good thing.</p><p>Plotless smut for your soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfortable

Marco pulled the whistling kettle from the burner and poured the boiling water into the mug. It was with a satisfied smile that he watched the water around the little metal infuser turn black. He set the kettle back down onto a cold burner and picked his mug of tea up, wandering from his kitchen into his living room and grabbing the remote control as he sat down. He tucked his feet up under him and, after setting his mug down, pulled a blanket over his bare legs. He pulled the hood up on his sweatshirt, turned on Netflix, and settled in for a quiet evening of tea and Adventure Time. 

That’s how he thought the evening was going to go, at least. A loud, persistent stomping from the apartment above his alerted him to Sasha’s efforts to earn his attention. It wasn’t long before her voice filtered down through the vent in his ceiling. 

"Yoooooo!" she shouted happily.

"Hey, Sasha," he called in return, tipping his head back and directing his voice at the vent. 

"You’re coming out with me tonight!" she told him. He rolled his eyes.

"No, I’m sitting on my ass and watching cartoons," he protested. 

"Old men don’t watch cartoons!" she shouted. There were two more bangs on his ceiling, and then he heard her front door open, then slam shut. Within a moment, she was bursting through his front door like a whirlwind, tossing her own keys onto his kitchen counter as she glided into the living room. Sasha tossed herself down onto the couch and stuffed her feet (she’d remembered to take off her shoes, Marco noted with relief) under his ass, wriggling her toes. "Hiya!"

Marco held out his mug to her. “Tea?” She accepted the mug and took a drink, seemingly impervious to the scalding liquid. She passed it back to him, smacking her lips.

"Come on," she whined. "Mikasa, Annie, and I are going to that club at the end of the street. Come with us!"

"I’m fine here."

"But we need a big strong man to protect us from  _predators_ ,” she said seriously. Marco snorted.

"You said Annie  _and_  Mikasa were going. You’ll be fine. Besides, Reiner and Eren will probably be working tonight, poisoning the drinks of all the creeps eyeballing you three,” he said. Sasha pursed her lips.

"Jean will be there."

"Who?"

"Don’t even, Bodt," Sasha warned playfully. 

Of course, she had his attention. Marco had met Jean a few months ago; he was Christa’s friend from high school, and had moved in with her while he saved money from his new job for an apartment of his own. Marco instantly took note of his strong jawline and his iniquitously beautiful hands, and it hadn’t taken him long to decide that he  _had_  to talk to this guy. Jean was smooth, though within fifteen minutes, Marco had him admitting to Harry Potter marathons and owning an Enterprise shaped pizza cutter. They didn’t often see each other, but they made a point to speak each time they did, often sitting next to each other. They would flirt, and they definitely made out when they were both drunk at Ymir’s one night, but they hadn’t made the steps to engage their relationship any deeper. It wasn’t that Marco wanted to; he  _wanted to_ , but Jean would always seem to flirt to a point, and then internally flail. He would dance away from Marco as easily as he’d approached him.

Sasha narrowed her eyes, poked at his rear with her toes. She scooted closer to him and tucked herself under his arm and the blanket. “Come on. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him,” she bribed. 

"We’ve texted," Marco sniffed. With an unimpressed face, she thrust her hand beneath the blanket and into the pocket of Marco’s hoodie. She grabbed his cell phone and tapped the screen with her thumb until she navigated to his messages. She located the conversation with Jean and scanned it quickly. She glanced up at him, one eyebrow arched.

"This doesn’t count as conversing, Marco," Sasha told him flatly. 

"Sure it does," he said offhandedly. "He asked me if I was going to be at Reiner’s, and I told him that I was at my sister’s."

"That was a month ago."

"It counts. Ish."

"You’re going."

Sasha pecked him on the cheek and scrambled gracelessly to her feet and wandered to his bedroom, where she picked out the pair of jeans that his “ass looked best in” and a grey button up shirt, on which she rolled his sleeves to his elbows. He looked down at himself and made a face.

"I look like a tool, Sash," he complained. 

"No, you look ultra sexy," she told him, giving his ass a quick grope before ducking out of the room. "Oh," she called from the kitchen, "grab a jacket, too; it’s a little chilly out tonight." With a devious little grin, Marco pulled his favourite black Metallica zip-up from a hanger in his closet and tugged it on. When he walked out to Sasha, she pursed her lips at him, her hands on her hips.

"Well, at least it’s not your Finn sweatshirt," she mused gratefully. 

"That thing is a  _gem_  and Jean would be lucky to see me in it,” Marco protested.

"You  _are_  sassy tonight, you little shit,” Sasha grinned. “Now come on, Annie just texted me. We’re gonna get crunk!” 

"Don’t ever say that again," Marco told her.

—-

The club they were at wasn’t a bad sort; it was clean, free of shady people (for the most part), and Eren could occasionally smuggle Marco free drinks. Sasha and Mikasa were on the dance floor, and Marco and Annie were leaning against a pillar, watching them. He wasn’t quite sure why Annie even came to the club with them; she never danced and rarely ever sipped on more than one gin and tonic. 

Sasha and Mikasa were energetic dancers, and Marco had taken a break to catch his breath and order and Captain and Coke. He also wanted to look for Jean, and this particular pillar had a pretty decent vantage point. The current song selection was a series of saucy Latin beats that had even Annie wiggling her shoulders a bit. Marco bumped his elbow against hers.

"See, dancing comes naturally," he encouraged. Annie’s blue eyes left the dance floor for a moment to flick over to Marco, and she smirked.

"It would seem so," she hummed quietly. She shifted her gaze back to the crowd of writhing people, her smirk widening. 

"You should go join the girls," he told her. "They’d have you dancing like a pro in no time." Annie shifted on her feet.

"Oh, I’m not sure that would be a good idea," she mused. Marco furrowed her brow at her. "It’d be almost criminal to steal the dance floor from the number Jean’s doing out there."

Marco turned his head so fast that whiplash was a serious possibility. Annie was right - Jean was near the corner, tearing up the dance floor by himself. One or two spectators watched him appreciatively, but most people were too busy dancing with their partners or by themselves. His white, long-sleeved v-neck glowed under the black light (Marco bit his lip as flashes of other things that glow under black lights crossed his mind). Tight black pants clung to his gyrating and swiveling hips. His body moved effortlessly, rolling and snapping to the beat of the music. Marco’s mouth ran dry, his drink stalling halfway to his lips.

"Madre del amor hermoso," he murmured. Annie snorted gin and tonic up her nose and coughed into her sleeve. 

"Colourful," she observed, her voice raspy. "I don’t know what you’re waiting for."

"He’s busy dancing, probably doesn’t want to be interrupted," Marco defended lamely. Annie narrowed her eyes at him.

"Since when does Marco fucking Bodt  _shy away_  from a hot piece of ass?” she wondered. “You had zero trouble luring me into bed with you and Sasha, and I take pride in my mastery of the art of being hard to get.”

"Your weaknesses to chocolate and cheesy pickup lines are written all over your beautiful, scowling face," Marco teased, managing to pull his eyes away from Jean for a moment to wink down at Annie. She arched a delicately sculpted eyebrow at him. 

"So you’re saying that the only reason you’re not over there grinding against Jean right now is because you can’t read him like an open book?" she asked. Pouting, Marco looked away, fixing his eyes back on Jean. "You’ve got more game than that, Bodt." She sighed and scrutinized Jean. "He hates spicy food and is a sucker for brown eyes. He also wants your bodty."

"Ugh, you too?" he groaned, making a mental note to throttle Sasha. 

"Marco, if you don’t go over there right now, I’ll have Reiner physically remove you from this spot and drop you into Jean’s lap," she threatened. 

"Gone," he grumbled, shoving his drink into Annie’s outstretched hand and pushing away from the column. He pulled his hood up (strictly for dramatic effect, he told himself) and shouldered through the crowd, making his way to Jean. He was facing away from Marco, giving him a lovely view of that perfect back of his that, even clothed, was sending a solar storm of filthy thoughts through Marco’s head.  _I’m gonna hit that like a fucking freight train._

He slunk up behind Jean easily, grabbing those gyrating hips and pulling them against his own, allowing his to pick up the beat. He stepped against Jean and pressed his lips to the shell of his pierced ear. In as sultry a voice as he could muster, he murmured, “Eso me vuelve loco.” Jean, who had been tense previously, relaxed and pushed his ass back into Marco’s crotch, rolling his hips.

"What’s the chance of that being a good thing?" Jean all but moaned back. Marco ran one hand down Jean’s thigh as far as he could go, and the other guided his arm up and around his neck, fingering the contours of his muscles through the fabric of his shirt. Jean dropped down, splaying his legs and then rolling his body back up. 

"About as same as the chance that certain friends are behind you and I both being here tonight," Marco chuckled lowly, taking great pleasure in the shiver that worked its way up Jean’s side. "Thought so." Jean spun, coming face to face with Marco. Before Marco’s eyes could focus on him, he had wrapped his long arms around his neck and was grinding his crotch against Marco’s thigh. Marco groaned and dropped his forehead, pressing his cheek into Jean’s neck. 

"Then what are the chances of neither of us being here anymore?" he asked as he swiveled his body back against Marco’s. One pale hand wormed its way up Marco’s neck and pushed his hood down. He bit his lip and let his gaze flutter from Marco’s lips to his eyes. 

Marco was generally a laid back guy, more than willing to let someone else take the lead and to settle into a position of giving advice rather than giving orders. He liked tea and books and cartoons, warm puppies and heavy metal and flannel sheets. But Jean was gnawing on his lip, plumping it and moistening it, and the near shyness of his gaze brought up a possessiveness in Marco. The desire to fuck Jean raw bubbled up to the surface and he didn’t deny it as he dipped his head and pressed his lips against Jean’s roughly. Jean’s hand on his neck tightened its grip, his other hand clutching at Marco’s hoodie. He’d stopped winding his body to the music and switched to undulating against Marco. 

Marco wrapped one arm around his waist and brought his other up to support Jean’s back as he leaned into him. A few seconds later, he grabbed one of Jean’s hands and broke the kiss, leading him to the back door that dumped out into a surprisingly clean alley. If Jean had left a checked jacket, he knew Sasha would retrieve it before she left. This was all her grand scheme, it seemed, anyway.

Placing his fingers delicately on Jean’s chest, he looked into Jean’s eyes and smirked, then shoved him once. Jean fell against the brick with a grunt, his pupils blown wide in the darkness, his mouth open and panting. Marco stepped up to him, curling his fist into his shirt and kissing him hard.

"Fuck," Jean whispered against the assault of his lips. He hitched one leg up onto Marco’s hip to pull him closer, kiss him deeper, tongue-fuck him faster. Marco eventually broke the kiss and nosed his way down Jean’s neck, biting none-too-gently at the skin there. He alternated between biting and sucking, laving at the mark with his tongue when Jean’s breath stuttered in his throat. The mark would be dark purple, would be there for a few days. Marco smirked and then kissed his way back up Jean’s neck. He caught his chin between his fingers and fixed his eyes on Jean’s.

"Come on," he murmured. Jean nodded, his eyes hazy with lust. Marco grabbed Jean’s hand and threaded their fingers together, then led him out of the alley. The music of the club faded as they walked down the street. The chill in the air had Marco walking close to Jean. An awkward silence had fallen over them; Marco  _loathed_  awkward silences, so he spoke up.

"You’re an amazing dancer," he said, his voice coming out much more softly than he intended.

Jean looked up at him sharply, somewhat startled. “Oh, um, thanks.” He bit his lip and looked away. With a small sigh, Marco decided to keep silent. As eager as Jean seemed, he seemed like he had no idea what to say. Marco squeezed his hand in silent solidarity and led him through the lobby of his complex. The night clerk, Gunter, winked at them with a little wave. Jean ducked his head into Marco’s shoulder, and Marco tossed off a little wave at Gunter in return. He guided Jean to the stairs, as he only lived on the second floor. He fished his keys out of his pocket and inserted it into the lock. Before he twisted the handle, he turned his head to look at Jean.

"I want you," he said bluntly, making Jean flush and look away. "But I’m not a creep; you’re not being forced into anything."

"Oh!" Jean looked at him, his eyes wide. "N-no, it’s not that! I’m just a giant nerd, and I’ve never really, um, gone home with anyone," he mumbled. Marco canted his head to the side slightly, purposefully keeping his eyebrows in one place, because they suddenly wanted to shoot up in surprise.

"You’ve never done this before?" Marco asked gently, reaching out to cup Jean’s neck. Jean snorted and swatted his hand away. 

"Of course I have," he said haughtily. "I mean I’ve never gone and fucked someone I danced with at a club." Marco smirked.

"It’s not like we’re strangers, Jean," he purred, leaning in and stealing a kiss. Jean melted into it, sighing through his nostrils and leaning into Marco’s chest. One of Marco’s hands wrapped around his waist, and the other slid down the door and coming to rest on the handle. "Gonna let me fuck you?" he murmured against Jean’s lips silkily. 

"Oh sweet fuck, yes," Jean moaned. Marco quickly turned the handle and shoved the door open. He pulled Jean inside and kicked it shut again. He broke the kiss and turned to lock the door. He hung his keys on one of the pegs by the door and glanced at Jean. 

He was surveying Marco’s apartment, his amber eyes taking in every detail. Before Marco could step up behind him to kiss his neck, Jean turned around, grinning wickedly, and drew him in for a kiss. It was rougher than their kiss in the hall, more confident. He worked his hands inside of Marco’s hoodie, pushing it off of his shoulders and tugging it from his body. They left it where it fell, and Marco began to back Jean up. He carefully guided Jean as he backed up, directing him down the hall and into his bedroom, smiling against his lips as Jean’s eyes kept darting down to his feet. 

Marco allowed himself to be pushed down onto the bed, and he propped himself on his elbows and spread his legs to allow Jean to stand between them. Biting his lip (Marco cursed, it’s like Jean already knows what drives him wild, how does he do that?), he crosses his arms and grips the bottom of his shirt, slowly peeling it off ( _and did he just roll his fucking body, what is this boy made of?_ ) and tossing it away. He placed a knee beside Marco’s waist and hauled himself up onto the bed, straddling him. Marco sat up and gripped at Jean’s thighs as he began to work at the buttons on his shirt. Marco rolled his shoulders, discarding the shirt as soon as Jean had freed the last button. 

Marco finally allowed to run his hands along Jean’s skin, smooth and pale and practically begging for Marco to mark him. He dragged his blunt nails down Jean’s back, causing him to roll his hips down and toss his head back. Marco leaned forward and caught a nipple between his teeth. Jean hissed as he rolled it between his teeth and caressed it with his tongue. Marco had begun to thrust up against Jean’s grinding hips, but the friction was quickly becoming more of a hindrance than anything else. Gripping Jean’s waist, he hastily flipped them and hovered over Jean. He kissed his jawline, his neck, his chest, and wasted no time in tugging down Jean’s pants once he’d unbuttoned them. He flipped them over his shoulder and stared down at Jean’s exposed body. He was all lean, tight muscle, slender and long-limbed, broad shouldered and pale. 

Jean made to sit up, his lust-filled eyes on Marco’s pants, but Marco shoved him back down onto the bed. Jean allowed a small bark of laughter, and Marco grinned up at him wolfishly before opening his mouth and swallowing around him. Jean groaned low in his throat and threw his head back into the pillows. Marco hollowed his cheeks and swallowed Jean to the base of his cock, bobbing his head briefly before sliding his lips back up. He swirled his tongue around the tip, paying special attention to the sensitive underside. As he lavished the tip of Jean’s cock with his tongue, he wrapped a hand around the base of the shaft and quickly jerked him off. He felt a shudder run through Jean and took satisfaction out of feeling him arch his back and thrust shallowly into his mouth. Marco’s free hand fondled his balls, squeezing them almost too hard just as he sucked on the tip of Jean’s cock. Jean’s hoarse cry of, “Oh,  _fuck,_ " was music to Marco’s ears, and he hummed happily around the dick in his mouth. He began to jerk him off rapidly again, his fist sliding easily along the saliva-slick member, and he let his teeth graze the smooth head. He twisted his wrist and was rewarded with another cry from Jean. Just when the steady roll of Jean’s hips began to turn into stuttering thrusts, Marco pulled back, smirking at Jean’s whimper.

He quickly removed his own pants, and before Jean could get the chance to return the favour, Marco was urging him to flip onto his belly and tugging him up onto his hands and knees. Marco placed his hands on Jean’s ass, gently massaging each cheek. “Dios mío,” he murmured, reverently kissing one. Sliding his thumbs down, he spread them; his cock twitched at the sight of Jean’s puckered entrance, and he wasted no time in giving it the attention it deserved. Marco gave it an experimental lick, reveling in the gasp it elicited from Jean. Encouraged, he kissed at it, circled it with his tongue, coated it liberally with saliva. Jean hissed at him and pushed his ass back, growing impatient. Marco smirked and then slowly worked his tongue past the tight ciclet of muscle, wiggling it to and fro as his lips kissed around Jean’s soft skin. 

"Fuck,  _Marco_ ,” Jean groaned. His head drooped and he pushed back, his own hand wrapping around his cock to stroke himself lazily. Marco hummed again and decided right there that he wouldn’t ever get tired of the way Jean shook, or of the little noises he didn’t know he was making. He probed at Jean’s hole until the latter’s insistent whining got the better of him (and his own cock was beginning to throb painfully). With one last kiss, Marco pulled away and made a hasty beeline for his nightstand. 

The lube was already on top of it, along with a little square of foil wrapped chocolate. He’d have to thank Sasha later (and by thank, he meant grovel at her feet and buy her an armful of new comic books). He snatched the lube and quickly poured some onto his fingers. Dropping the bottle, he circled a finger around Jean’s moist entrance, and then slipped a digit in easily. Jean hissed a strained, “ _Shit,”_  and pushed back again. Marco could take a hint, and he pushed another finger in. Jean hummed, and Marco let him fuck himself on those two fingers until he moaned for more. A third finger went in easily enough, and Marco scissored and curled his fingers within him, steadily stretching Jean until he was sucking in air through his teeth and pushing back against Marco’s thrusting fingers. 

"What do you want, Jean?" Marco asked huskily. 

"Fuck, just fuck me," Jean murmured through a tremulous moan. Marco chuckled, grabbing the bottle of lube again and slicking his cock. 

"Is that desperation?" he teased. Jean tossed him a remarkably clear look over his shoulder.

"I know what I want," he purred. Marco blinked at him, taking a moment to appreciate how incredibly erotic Jean looked and sounded in that instant. Then he grinned and pressed his chest into Jean’s back, kissing him soundly. While one arm supported him, his other hand guided his aching cock to Jean’s hole. Slowly, slowly,  _slowly,_  he sunk into him, absorbing Jean’s moans through the kiss like they were fuel. With a gentle roll of his hips, he seated himself balls-deep within Jean and endeavoured to remain still. A moment later, Jean nipped at Marco’s lower lip and wiggled his hips enticingly. Marco pulled back, straightening himself out, and then pushed back in. He settled one hand on the small of Jean’s back and began a steady pace of deep thrusts. Jean hissed at him.

"Do I look like some sort of china doll?" he groaned. "Come on, Marco,  _fuck me.”_ Marco grinned.  _As you wish, darling._

Adjusting his grip on his hips, he pulled back, then snapped forward. He set a harsh pace, fucking into Jean hard and fast. Jean slammed back against him, and every powerful thrust from Marco sent him bobbing forward. He couldn’t jerk himself off; if he lifted one arm, he’d be eating pillow. Marco’s fingers were sure to leave bruises on Jean’s hips, but each moan from Jean drove Marco to grip them that much harder.

"Más," Jean moaned sloppily. It was Marco’s turn to groan; hearing Jean speak in Spanish was enough to put a falter in his pace. He leaned over Jean’s back again and bit down on his shoulder. His next thrust had Jean arching his back and throwing his head back, and Marco thought he’d never heard a more wrecked moan come out of anyone, ever. It was easily the sexiest fucking thing he’d ever heard, and he thrust into that spot again. Jean’s eyes rolled back and his mouth hung open, no sound coming from his dry throat. 

He was barely able to choke out a warning before his back hunched, his orgasm pulsing through him, staining the blanket below him with thick ribbons of come. His whole body shook, and a cracked sob wrenched its way from his throat.

"Fuck, Jean," Marco moaned. His thrusts were shallow, and he lost all coherent thought when Jean purposefully clenched down around him. With a broken cry of Jean’s name and a stuttering of his hips, he spilled himself into him, rolling his hips through his release.

Jean’s arms finally gave out from under him, and Marco gently pulled his softening cock from Jean’s body. They shakily wormed their way below the blankets, and Marco wrapped his arms around Jean’s boneless form. Jean snuggled into him, pressing kisses against his collarbone. As Marco’s breathing returned to normal, he felt pretty boneless, too.

It wasn’t long before they’d both fallen asleep, their arms thrown over one another.

—-

"I hope the tea turns out okay," Jean said.

The next morning, Marco was admittedly somewhat surprised to wake up alone. Sure, the sex hadn’t lasted all that long, but it was hard and hot and great. He thought so, at least. Then he heard the whistle of his kettle. Pulling on a pair of lounge pants, he shuffled down the hall and was treated to a sight that could only be a gift from the post-sex gods.

Jean stood, his back to Marco, in front of the counter. He wore Marco’s Finn hoodle, a bit too big for him, and nothing else. Marco felt like a cartoon wolf with his jaw hanging slack as it was. He composed himself just as Jean turned around with the tea. 

"It’s hard to fuck up black tea," Marco said. They were seated on his couch, and they fell into a comfortable silence that only ended after their first sips of tea.

"Can I ask you something?" Marco spoke up.

"What’s up?" Jean asked. Marco licked his lips, trying to figure out the best way to word it.

"Last night, in the hall.. you seemed like you weren’t sure. And then you got in here and, I dunno, I guess you changed your mind?" He shook his head. "I don’t know, you just.. seemed like you realised something. What happened?" Jean tilted his head to the side, and then he smiled. It wasn’t a grin or a smirk, but a warm, genuine smile that made Marco feel like doing everything in his power to keep it there.

"Like I said, I’m a nerd. You’re this-" he gestured with his hand "-this tanned, gorgeous, smooth as fuck guy and I kind of had no idea why you’d be interested in a dweeb like me." His gaze drifted into the kitchen. "And then I saw your Star Fleet Commander apron by the fridge. And the Hoth magnet on your freezer. Your coffee table is a replica Hogwarts trunk. And this." He plucked at the Adventure Time hoodie. "I didn’t find this until this morning, but I knew you were just a huge geek like me." He wrapped his hands around his mug. "You made me comfortable."

Marco felt a surge of affection catch his chest in a gridlock. He wanted to smile, to tease, to laugh. Instead, he settled for leaning over and covering Jean’s mouth with his. Jean smiled into the kiss; he took their mugs and set them on the end table. He straddled Marco’s lap and cupped his face in his hands. 

"Your turn," he whispered, low and husky. As Jean crept down his body, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of his loungers, Marco knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was going to live a very, very comfortable life indeed. And he had a strong feeling that Jean was going to be the cause of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Pansexual Marco and homoflexible Jean at your service. At each other's service. 
> 
> This goes along with my ongoing headcanon that Marco is of Spanish descent. Partially inspired by this line in Shakira's song "Hips Don't Lie": _I never really knew that she could dance like this, she makes a man wanna speak Spanish._ Obviously my two favourite boys had to frickfrack. 
> 
> As promised, this is apology porn for Artificially Human (¬‿¬) ~~still not sorry for that iluall~~  
>  A very special thank you to _lotus-flavored-suguce_ for so kindly assisting me with the Spanish. I know none, and they were sweet enough to point out what the online translators tried to slaughter~
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this! Kudos and comments make my heart smile~  
> Peace, love, and chai~


End file.
